


Things done on purpose, and things overlooked

by ineptshieldmaid



Series: The Patron Saint of Communicating Like A Fucking Adult [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: BDSM, Casual Sex, M/M, Masochism, Non-Monogamy, Pining, Service Submission, Text messaging, a good partner is one who supports you while you support your ridiculous ex, author has a grudge against 'gentle walks' with the swiss, casual sex that ends up not so casual, communication errors, critical mismatches of kink style, easily confused with service topping, except viktor nikiforov's problems, gratuitous use of asynchronous plot lines, non-monogamy fixes everything, pining not by POV character, relationships listed in order of narrative importance, small exercises of gratuitous switzerland localisation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9343727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: ‘If your friend hurts my friend,’ Christophe says, putting aside the question of why Chulanont thinks Christophe is the person to give the shovel talk to, ‘he won’t be the first and he won’t be the last. Viktor’ll mope, but he’ll survive.’ Viktor might come back to the ice so Chris can defeat him for good, that’d be nice.‘Won’t be the… wait,’ Chulanont says, eyes sharp, ‘Who else’s broken Viktor’s heart?’





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many people had (witting and unwitting) input into this fic and deserve a touch of the hat. Notcaycepollard, for some alpha-reading (sorry I couldn't do you a nightclub scene!); Trojie, for some alpha-reading of later scenes. Kayloulee for assistance with maths, the history of mobile phone communication, and helping me arbitrarily select a year for the canon narrative. The nice person who shall remain nameless who put me onto [this theory about Chris' Mystery Man](https://twitter.com/DettsuArt/status/813477387170025472).

**April 2014**

Viktor, 15:43: I forgot you live in an actual picture postcard.

15:50: It’s my grandparents’ place, shut up. 

Viktor, 16:00: Some people go on vacation at the end of season, you go to your grandparents?

16:02: You only say that because you haven’t tasted my grandmother’s cooking.

16:04: You’re in no position to talk, anyway. You seem to have done alright for yourself. You finally looked up Katsuki, I take it? I trust you’re having a *relaxing* time.

Viktor, 16:10: Coaching. I’m coaching.

16:12: Is that what they’re calling it these days?

Viktor, 16:13: Yeah, apparently, it is. Look. Here is a photo of my protége, who I am coaching. 

16.14: Nice ass.

Viktor, 16:15: You’re impossible.

Viktor, 16:16: But yeah, nice ass.

16:18: Tell it I said hi. And Katsuki too, I guess.

**November 2014**

No one is particularly drunk at this banquet, which is both normal and completely disappointing. Christophe amuses himself by making increasingly sarcastic commentary with the young Russian girl, Mila. She’d placed third, and, more importantly, has a lot of inside dirt on the weird incestuous world of Russian skating. Apparently Plisetsky is livid about Viktor taking off to Japan, and is also stuck in a weird standoff between Feltsman and his ex-wife, who are co-coaching him for the season. They’re all living together. It sounds terrible, and Christophe can’t wait to see what fresh drama Plisetsky unleashes this season. The kid will definitely make it to the Euros, and probably Worlds, even if he misses the GPF.

Viktor stops to talk to him for a bit, but he’s clearly enraptured with Katsuki, and Katsuki seems to barely know who Chris is. Which is a bit rich, given they’ve known each other since Juniors - Christophe transferred over to senior competition long before Katsuki did, but still. And that’s discounting the Sochi dance-off.

As Viktor and Katsuki make their exit, off to be disgusting at each other somewhere else, Christophe realises Chulanont is standing an arm’s length away, also watching Viktor and Katsuki leave.

‘Disappointing, isn’t it?’ Christophe says. ‘Although Katsuki does seem to be flourishing, he’s a lot better than he was last year.’

Chulanont eyes Christophe for a moment, and then takes the step closer to say to him, in a low voice, ‘If your friend hurts my friend, I will hurt him very badly.’

It is at this point that Christophe remembers Katsuki and Chulanont were rink-mates last year. The same coach who’d failed to keep tabs on Katsuki in Sochi was here with Chulanont today, off on the other side of the room trying (and failing) to charm Ji Guang Hong’s coach.

‘If your friend hurts my friend,’ Christophe says, putting aside the question of why Chulanont thinks Christophe is the person to give the shovel talk to, ‘he won’t be the first and he won’t be the last. Viktor’ll mope, but he’ll survive.’ Viktor might come back to the ice so Chris can defeat him for good, that’d be nice.

‘Won’t be the… wait,’ Chulanont says, eyes sharp, ‘Who else’s broken Viktor’s heart?’

Chris just shakes his head. ‘Long story,’ he says, which is true, but also not the reason he’s not saying. There’s more people’s dignity caught up in the tale than just Viktor’s. They can joke about it now, but that doesn't mean telling everyone in the damn sport all about it.

‘Chulanont,’ he says, in lieu of telling the story, ‘this party’s starting to empty out.’

‘Phichit, please,’ Chulanont says, and looks around them. ‘Yeah, I guess it is.’ The American kid - de la Iglesia - has already gone. Like Katsuki, he’s probably got to start training for the Rostelcom Cup pretty much immediately. Popovich is also gone, but Ji is over in a corner with Mila and a handful of the other ladies’ skaters, blushing furiously under their combined attention.

‘Chris, then,’ Christophe says, and slings one arm around Phichit’s shoulders. ‘And Phichit, I think there must be somewhere to dance in this city, don’t you? Do you think we can talk young Ji over there into showing us around the Beijing nightlife?’

‘He’s only-’ Phichit begins, and then grins. ‘Hey, seventeen isn’t a problem for clubs here, is it?’

‘Not as far as I know,’ Christophe says, steering his new friend toward the knot of people around Ji. 

**November 2008**

It’s well-known that Christophe Giacometti had first met Viktor Nikiforov at the Euros, when Chris was just out of Juniors and Viktor was in the midst of his meteoric rise to the top of the figure-skating world. There are videos of it on YouTube, and Youtube had barely been invented at the time. Christophe’s pretty sure his Nonna still has a few petals from the rose, pressed and stashed away somewhere. Viktor went out of his way to look for Chris at Worlds that year, and at assorted events thereafter; Chris came up through the ranks in the senior competitions, and, given he wasn’t that much younger than Viktor anyway and a whole lot more outgoing, Viktor’s benevolent encouragement of his junior gave way to fierce competition and genuine friendship.

Also, they had sex in the dressing rooms in Paris the year Chris turned twenty and earned a spot in the Grand Prix Final.

Chris had secured his spot with a comfortable second. Viktor took the gold, of course, but he’d taken gold in his other seeded competition, too, so second was a hot prize to take. Viktor had come looking for him, to congratulate him, and Chris had dragged him into a dressing room and said ‘Let’s celebrate!’

‘The banquet’s not until Sunday, but we could probably find a drink…’ Viktor said, and then his eyes widened as Chris got all up in his personal space.

‘I have a better idea.’ Chris paused, a hair’s breadth between them, and waited for Viktor to get with the program.

‘Chris!’ Viktor sounded slightly scandalised. ‘You… I… we can’t!’

‘We can so.’ Chris grinned because the answer wasn’t _What made you think I’d be interested in the first place?_ ‘It’s my dressing room. No one’s going to come in here except my coach, and he knows better than that.’

‘You do this a lot, do you?’

‘Yeah, I do.’ Chris tilted his chin up and leaned a little further into Viktor’s personal space. ‘Got a problem with that?’

‘If anything, I’m impressed,’ Viktor said, and apparently Chris’ many charms, or his self-reported experience, won out, because Viktor settled his hands on Chris hips. ‘It’s just,’ he said, before Chris could distract him by kissing him. ‘I, um. I consider you a friend, Chris.’

‘Yes, I know that.’ Chris hooked his fingers into Viktor’s belt loops - Viktor had somehow had time to change into something normal, while Chris was still looking like a glitter-spattered wet dream. Chris was okay with this disparity. ‘Your point?’

‘I don’t want to, uh, make things, um, weird,’ Viktor said. Chris would be more amused by everyone’s idol Viktor Nikiforov stammering his way through sex talk, if it weren’t that he would be unfairly judging the man. Not many people, in Chris’ estimation (an estimation inflated by the egotism of barely-twenty), could maintain coherence with Chris Giacometti teasing the edge of their ear with his mouth.

Viktor seemed to give up about then, and pulled Chris back a little so he could kiss him properly. Chris’ hair was still curly, at this point, and oh, fuck did he appreciate the many advantages it gave in terms of being pulled about. Viktor didn’t pull on his hair, per se, but got hold of it pretty firmly, and that was close enough.

‘This is great,’ Chris said, pulling away from Viktor long enough to walk him back into the wall. ‘How could this make anything weird, it’s _great_.’

‘Um,’ Viktor said, again. ‘Yes. But Chris, you’re… I’m…’ 

‘Stop right there,’ Chris said, putting a hand over Viktor’s mouth. ‘Don’t you dare put on the Responsible Mentor face with me.’ He hadn’t seen much of it, in the past season or so; instead he’d seen a lot of Viktor Who Really Hates Early Flights and Viktor Who Is Secretly An Asshole About Everyone In This Sport. The last thing Chris wanted was Viktor to revert back to benevolent patronage.

‘Mmphmbt,’ Viktor said, behind Chris palm. 

Chris picked up the medal that he was, fortuitously, still wearing around his neck. ‘Pretty sure we just qualified for the same final, Nikiforov. I’m your competition now.’

‘And that means we should have sex?’ Viktor pulls Chris’ hand away from his mouth, looking like he’s stuck between horrified and deeply amused.

‘Well, that and the fact that we’re the hottest guys here.’ Viktor just raises one eyebrow at him. ‘Oh, come on, Viktor, we are absolutely the hottest guys here.’ When that doesn’t get him kissed again, Chris tries forethought and negotiation. ‘We’re friends, right? We’ll still be friends after. We’ll be friends who’ve had really good sex. No...’ he makes a vague hand gesture to indicate unwanted feelings. ‘No one gets hurt, okay?’

That turned out to be what Anglophones call 'famous last words', but Viktor agreed, and yanked Chris in to kiss him hard and sloppy. Chris sorted swiftly through his options for something both practical and impressive, and decided on blowing Viktor against the dressing room wall. He only needed to back off once to say ‘no go on, pull it,’ and Viktor pulled his hair good and hard while Chris sucked him off. Somewhere in there Chris switched things up, sucked Viktor’s balls into his mouth for a bit, and then slid one spit-slick finger into his ass, ensuring that Viktor came fast and hard and only mostly into Chris’ mouth.

What’s a world-class blowjob between world-class friends, after all?

**April 2014**

Viktor, 16:07: Why are you in London?

16:20: Seeing WICKED, why else does anyone go to London?

16:25: Why are you awake, isn’t it godawful hours in Japan? 

16:28: Or maybe the question is, why are you checking Instagram when you’ve clearly got better things to do at this hour?

Viktor, 16:35: If you mean trying to figure out how to stop Yurio committing homicide in the near future, sure, better things.

16:38: Yuri*O*, really?

Viktor, 16:40: Not him, Plisetsky. Locals gave him a nickname to keep them distinguished.

16:42: Riiight, I heard Plisetsky’d flown out to get you. And stayed on, apparently. How’s that ménage à trois coming along?

Viktor, 16:43: You have no idea.

16:44: Viktor. I can’t tell what you mean. I assume you’re not banging Plisetsky as well, but is Katsuki???

Viktor, 16:46: No. Ew. What the hell? No one is banging anyone!

16:48: There’s your problem then.

Viktor, 17:00: Why do I talk to you again?

17:02: Because you know I’ll buy you drinks when this goes horribly wrong.

Viktor, 17:04: I think it already has.

**November 2014**

It’s somewhere past dawn and someone’s phone’s ringing. Not Chris’. Chris drags himself awake anyway, and about the point that he realises there’s someone else in his bed - no, _on_ his bed, sort of sideways on his bed - that someone swears loudly in a language Chris doesn’t speak, and picks up his phone.

The conversation that follows is in English, and goes something like ‘Oh fuck, sorry, fuck, what? Clubbing. Yes, I know. I’ll be down in half an hour. No! Fully dressed, I promise!’

Christophe hauls himself into a sitting position - he, at least, is in the bed proper - and, with some difficulty, focuses on Phichit Chulanont, who is scrambling to his feet and looking around for… something.

‘Morning,’ Chris says. He feels like ‘good’ would be overstating the matter.

‘Where are my _shoes?_ ’ Phichit turns to him, and pauses, standing on one foot for a moment. ‘Um. Hi.’

He’s pretty cute, and sort of blushing, so Chris manages, beyond the haze of hangover, to dredge up a smirk. ‘Why _are_ we still fully dressed?’

‘I think,’ Phichit says, locating one shoe and focusing on it with great determination, ‘because we were too drunk to figure out buttons. Or where my room key is.’

‘Sounds reasonable,’ Chris says. ‘I don’t remember much of…’

‘Probably for the best,’ Phichit says. ‘I’ve seen some terrible nightclubs but that was something else.’

There’s a moment’s awkward silence, while Phichit conquers his other shoe.

‘Oh, shit.’ Phichit turns around suddenly, ‘We didn’t - for the record, we did not fuck.’

Christophe blinks at him for a second, then gives the best approximation of a sultry once-over that he can manage on so little sleep and so much hangover. ‘Pity,’ he says. Phichit flushes again, but doesn’t back down.

‘Another time, Giacometti, I’m late and I need to get back into my own room.’

And with that, he’s gone. Could be worse, Christophe thinks, and devotes himself to lying flat on his back until everything hurts less.

**January 2009**

‘Bite me,’ Chris said. It was supposed to come out sexy and demanding, but it sort of came out combative instead. Probably he should’ve arched his neck back instead of jutting his jaw out like he was expecting a fight.

Although, to be honest, he could’ve got behind the idea of a fight that ended in a good fuck.

‘Christophe,’ Victor said, putting just a little more weight into his grip on Chris’ hips. ‘I can’t tell if you’re giving me sass or coming onto me.’

‘Some people like both,’ Chris said, canting his hips up into Viktor’s hands. Aggravatingly, Viktor dealt with that by letting go of him, sliding from holding him down to sort of sprawled against him. Admittedly, Viktor did then kiss him good and filthy with plenty of tongue, so Chris couldn’t complain. Much. 

He bit Viktor’s lip, though. It got a pretty gratifying sort of noise out of him, so it’s not as if Viktor didn’t get the appeal at all. 

‘Like that?’ Viktor pulled back a bit, sweeping one hand down Chris’ side. They were naked, which was great. They were both bruised, but not the sexy kind - just the regular, hard-work bruises, and a spectacular blue-and-green mess on Chris’ hip from an undignified fall in his Free Skate. Viktor had been carefully grabbing him _above_ that. ‘You want me to bite back, Giacometti?’ Viktor swooped in and did, indeed, bite Chris’ lower lip. And then his earlobe, for good measure.

‘I want you,’ Chris managed to get out, ‘to bite me. Anywhere you like, but do it hard.’

Viktor sat up a little, looking down at him with slight bafflement. And this was why Chris’ attempt to be sultry had come out combative: he hadn’t figured out yet (still hasn’t, but by twenty-five he’s learned to care less, not to see it as a judgement on the legitimacy of his every preference) how to predict who was going to give him what he wanted and then some, and who’d find it weird.

‘Bite you,’ Viktor said. And maybe he did get it, because his fingers settled on the jut of Chris’ hip-bone (not the bruised one) and dug in, with just a hint of nail. ‘Hard.’

‘Yeah.’ Chris could feel his face flushing, and that didn’t help. ‘I want you to bite me, Nikiforov, got a problem with that?’

Nails gave way to soothing strokes of Viktor’s thumb. ‘No,’ Viktor said, and his voice cracked on it a little. ‘Where do you want me to bite you?’

‘Anywhere, fuck. Not above the collar, not until after the gala.’

‘You must give me more than that, Chris.’ Viktor’s voice was low, like he was afraid if he spoke too loud he’d break the spell. Hardly the stuff of skating fan’s dreams: far from the great Viktor Nikiforov here to sweep you off your feet. But he _was_ into it; Chris might have only fucked him a few times (Paris, and then the GPF, twice; the second time he’d got Viktor on his back and ridden him hard, and Viktor had called him _magnifique_ , and that was how Christophe found out Viktor had any French at all) but he’d learned enough to tell when Viktor was definitely interested. Viktor was into the idea of biting Chris, biting him hard enough to hurt, and wasn’t that something to save up for a private wank?

Of course, a sane person would have started with something straightforward: nipples, maybe, or thighs or ass. 

‘Bruise,’ Chris said, wriggling to turn the injured hip up.

‘What the hell?’ Viktor’s breath caught, but he reached out, pressing his thumb into the edge of the bruise. It hurt, obviously. It hurt far more than Chris had expected, actually, because somewhere in the course of the discussion he’d gone from horny and desperate to half-hard and kind of defensive.

‘Are you going to do it, or not, Nikiforov?’ Chris was definitely compensating for lack of arousal with aggression, but it seemed to work, because Viktor leaned in and nipped, very gently, at the purple edge of the bruise.

‘I said do it hard,’ Chris snapped, and then keened in something between shock and desire. Viktor had bitten him hard - not in the centre of the bruise, in fact almost off it, but hard. Fuck. ‘Do it again.’ And then, because he did have some sense, ‘work around the outside.’

Viktor muttered something in Russian (probably. Not English or German or anything romance; beyond that, Chris would actually have no clue), and did as he was told.

Not too long after, Chris’ skin might as well have been on fire, and his dick was trying hard to convince him it definitely was. And Viktor was still working his way around the edges of the bruise in tiny, sharp nips.

‘Laisse-moi -’ Chris fell over the words in his own mouth, and resorted to grabbing Viktor by the hair and pulling him back. ‘Rest for a minute,’ he said, finding the right language this time.

‘Fuck,’ Viktor said, face red. ‘Did I… Fuck. That hurt you?’

‘Yes?’ Chris covered his eyes for a moment. ‘Yes, and it was amazing, and I really want you to do it again. Only maybe somewhere less bruised this time.’

‘You asked…’ Viktor sounded lost, and Chris’ brain got with the program enough to start sending him signals about checking in. ‘Fuck. Why was that hot?’

It was at this point that Christophe Giacometti realised he was giving the reigning Euro Champion lessons in sado-masochism as a victory present. Well. It wasn’t as if it was going to be a hardship, and if he were to do a good job of it _and_ a stellar performance at Worlds, he might be getting the kinky fuck of his life from a World Champion as a reward for making it to the podium himself.

**September 2014**

11.05: What the hell?

Viktor, 11:10: What the hell yourself?

11.11: Did Katsuki confess his undying love for you on national television? We get transcripts, you know.

Viktor, 11.13: No. He did not.

11.15: Sounded like he did, to me. Big speech about how you brought love into his life, or something.

Viktor, 11.16: ‘Not romantic,’ apparently.

11.18: Translation I’ve got says ‘pas seulement platonique ou romantique’. Which I hope means you’re also fucking this out of your system.

Viktor, 11.20: Only thing around here being fucked with is my head. 

11.22: Awww, that’s… I almost feel sorry for you. Almost as if you didn’t bring this on yourself.

Viktor, 11.23: What did I do to deserve this? You were there, last year. That was definitely a come-on, right?

11.24: Katsuki was drunk off his face. I got naked and danced on a pole with him, you don’t see me giving up my damn career.

Viktor, 11.25: Ugh. Don’t remind me. 

11.26: My pole dancing is tremendous and you know it. You just wait until you see what we’ve got lined up for this season. Théo’s great.

Viktor, 11.28: You actually went through with that? Got your pole-dancing fuckbuddy to choreograph for you?

11.29: Teacher, Viktor. He’s my pole-dancing teacher. And my boyfriend, actually. As of last week.

Viktor, 11.31: Oh great. He’s not just fucking his student, he’s dating you too. What am I doing wrong?

11.33: Have you actually asked him out? Or to bed? Or whatever?

Viktor, 11.34: I think so.

11.35: You THINK so.

Viktor, 11.40: Also I think his family think we’re dating. And the ballet teacher gave me a lecture about not fucking in the studio.

11.42: Spoilsport.

Viktor, 11.43: Which would be fine, IF THERE WAS ANY FUCKING GOING ON. Or anything else. 

11.45: You need to get laid.

Viktor, 11.46: I know.

11.47: They have nightclubs in Japan, I hear. Get your hands on someone who isn’t Katsuki. You’ll feel better for it.

Viktor, 11.48: Why do I even talk to you? I know exactly what your advice is going to be.

11.50: Because you need someone to state the obvious, and I am here to provide.

**March 2009**

As far as getting the fuck of his career so far was concerned, Chris’ luck was looking good by the start of Worlds. His actual skating, not so much: he’d sprained an ankle the previous week, not even on the ice – while walking with his Nonno, of all things. Chris isn’t stupid: he doesn’t ski, he doesn’t snowboard, he doesn’t even do proper hiking in winter. The only thing even approaching a dangerous sport, other than skating, that he allows himself is windsurfing on the lake in summer. But a gentle walk with his seventy-year-old grandfather ought to be _fine_. But no. There are hidden rabbit holes in those Alps, and Chris found one. At this point, getting through Worlds with his dignity intact and without aggravating the injury would be a plus.

But he’d had an email from Viktor, asking to see him on Sunday. It didn’t say much (years later, by now expert in sexting, Chris thinks about this and laughs), but it said ‘I’ve been thinking about you, a lot. You are beautiful. _Magnifique_ ,’ and Chris was happy to take that as a sign that Viktor thought (a lot) about what Chris looked like, riding Viktor’s cock and jerking himself off at the same time.

Chris had emailed back ‘sure, anything in particular you want to do?’, mostly to see if he could goad Viktor into a more explicit response. And to find out if he actually meant dinner, or sightseeing, or discussing choreography. 

The response he got in return was just ‘anything you want from me,’ which, well. Chris wasn’t fool enough to get himself bruised up, or even risk your regular ass-fucking levels of ache and strain, right before a competition, but anything was a pretty wide field. 

Viktor must have got his room number from reception, because just as Chris was debating whether to ask the hotel or incur roaming SMS charges, the man himself knocked on Chris’ door.

Chris’ casual fucking experience didn’t actually include that many booty calls. He was well versed in many things, but the etiquette of having someone show up in your doorway with intent to fuck you wasn’t one of them. It seemed showing up in people’s doorways with intent to fuck was also not one of Vitkor’s strong points: he sort of stood there and stared at Chris, until Chris grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him inside. There was an appropriate amount of kissing and groping, up against the nearest wall, and then Viktor dropped his head to Chris’ shoulder, laughing.

‘It’s good to see you,’ Viktor said, into Chris neck. And he punctuated it with just a hint of teeth, enough to make Chris squirm and groan.

‘Yeah, you too,’ Chris said, grabbing the back of Viktor’s neck hard enough to make him stop. ‘But if there’s marks enough to see on camera I will have your _ass_ , Viktor Nikiforov.’

Viktor went all tense and quiet at that, which for a split second Chris thought was a bad sign. Then he caught on.

‘Not in a good way!’ he said, and took the opportunity to shove Viktor backwards toward the bed. ‘I will have your ass in a very boring not at all sexy way, you understand?’

‘If you insist.’ Viktor went where Chris shoved him, and dragged Chris down with him. More kissing and groping, which ended up with Chris pleasantly pinned with Viktor’s knee between his thighs, and Viktor’s hair slipping out of its tie and into his face.

‘What do you want from me, Chris?’ Viktor asked him, voice low and full of promise.

‘Oh, so many things,’ Chris purred back. ‘Most of which we can’t really do three days before competing.’

‘You want me to fuck you?’ Viktor asked him. ‘After the free skate, do you want me to fuck you?’

‘I really do.’ Chris shifted in Viktor’s grasp; plenty of room to move, still. He ran his hands up Viktor’s stomach, over his chest, tweaking each nipple on the way to tug him down into a wet, urgent kiss.

‘How? Tell me how,’ Viktor said, disentangling himself long enough to speak. ‘Tell me how you want me, Chris, and I’ll give it to you, I’ll do anything you want from me.’

That, at least, gave Chris a moment’s pause. ‘You shouldn’t make that kind of offer, dude,’ he said, pushing Viktor back a little so he could look at him properly. ‘People might want all kinds of things from you. Things you don’t want, maybe.’

Viktor shrugged. ‘Yeah, but it’s you. Besides,’ he added. ‘How will I know if I don’t want it until I know what it is you want?’

Fair point. 

‘Tell me, Christophe.’ Viktor punctuated that with a sharp nip at Chris’ collarbone, well under the costume coverage line, and how was he supposed to resist that?

‘Okay, Viktor, I want you to fuck me,’ Chris started. ‘I want you to hold me down and fuck me, and I want you to do it rough – not much prep, you know? You have me face-down, and I want you to put your weight on me, hold me down, put one hand on the back of my neck…’

His breath caught, description suddenly halted by Viktor’s fingers, tweaking and then rubbing and tweaking again over his nipples. 

‘Go on,’ Viktor said. Chris slid his hands lower, grabbing Viktor’s ass and dragging their hips together, roughly and unwieldy but close to perfect. He went on, of course he went on, his English getting increasingly disjointed and slipping, at times, into French. If Viktor missed anything it didn’t seem to be bothering him, or maybe he was into that, too. He manhandled Chris into position while Chris talked, until they were rubbing up against each other with relative ease.

Somewhere between the description of how Viktor was going to kick Chris’ knees out from under him and fuck him right into the mattress and the point where one or both of them was going to come right here, right now, dry humping like teenagers, Chris got one hand in between them and more or less around both their dicks at once. Viktor whined, high and broken, and sort of collapsed into Chris, his face mashed into Chris neck. Neither of them lasted long after that. 

Viktor muttered something incomprehensible, and for whatever reason, Chris thought that one might be important.

‘What?’ He brushed quite a lot of Viktor’s hair out of his face. ‘Say again?’

Viktor wrapped one hand around Chris’ wrist and unwrapped his fingers from around their dicks. Chris let him, and shuddered through a last twitching aftershock of his orgasm. The casual exercise of control went straight to his head, and his dick.

‘I said, I was going to ask you to dinner,’ Viktor said, still into Chris’ shoulder.

‘I was going to get on my knees and blow you,’ Chris countered. 

‘Oh, fuck.’ Viktor gave a full-body shudder at that. ‘That first time, you…’ he trailed off, but his body betrayed him.

‘I what?’ Chris was good, he knew he was good, but he wasn’t above fishing for compliments.

‘You put your finger in my…’

That got Chris’ attention. ‘You can’t tell me that was your first time?’ 

Viktor levered himself up, frowning down at him. ‘No? Only… normally for, ah, fucking.’

‘You… you liked it, right?’

‘I did. I just… didn’t know people did that.’

Chris had to laugh. Viktor Nikiforov, Grand Prix Gold Medallist, multiple times Euro Champion, wet dream of the entire male-attracted cohort of the figure skating world and probably more than half of Russia to boot, didn’t know people did that.

He felt like a bit of an ass, though, when Viktor rolled away and sat up, tension in all the lines of his body.

‘Hey,’ Chris said, putting out a hand. ‘Sorry. That’s not… I’m not laughing _at_ you.’

‘What are you laughing at, then?’

‘All the fun I’m going to have with you.’

Viktor’s expression, half-shy, half-lustful, through the mess of his hair, was something to treasure.

‘Really?’

Chris sat up, tangled his fingers in that hair, and kissed Viktor soundly. ‘Really. I’ve an idea.’ He waited for Viktor’s hum of curiosity. ‘We go out and find dinner, and then come back here, and I finger you – nice and gently, entirely acceptable for competition sex – until you’re a mess, and _then_ I get on my knees and blow you.’

**November 2014**

Chris makes sure he has access to a stream of the Rostelcom, of course he does. He’d do it anyway, but he really wants to see what fresh nonsense Viktor and Katsuki come up with this time, after the great PDA on Ice of the China Cup. And the Rostelcom will determine Chulanont’s fate, too, and since Chris would definitely not object to seeing him again before Worlds, he’s paying more attention than usual.

Théo watches with him, and it’s surprisingly… nice. Chris normally watches these things with other skaters. Théo’s not clueless – he was with the Béjart for years, before some kind of breakdown put him out of the ballet business and somehow (Chris still isn’t sure how) into the fine art of pole dancing. So he gets it, gets the artistry of skating and the intense competition thing, but it’s not his domain. 

Théo, for instance, can’t estimate people’s scores, so while Chris does that, he rates every one of Chris’ respected colleagues, men and ladies both, on the attractiveness of their asses. By the time Katsuki is due to skate his short program, Théo has declared Seung-Gil’s ass beats JJ’s (Chris is not above being smug about that: JJ hasn’t even skated yet and he’s out of the running for the Gold Medal of Hot Asses), and is busy deciding whether Michele Crispino’s ass really is better than his sister’s (it’s not).

‘Add that to the list of reasons Viktor is wasted as a coach,’ Chris says, Crispino skates off. ‘His really is a spectacular ass.’

‘I know.’ Théo sounds wistful. Chris hasn’t introduced him to Viktor, yet – Théo couldn’t make it to China – but Chris has shown him video evidence (entirely above-board, publicly available on YouTube evidence) of the excellence of Viktor’s ass.

At this point, the camera cuts to the rink-side, where Viktor and Katsuki are waiting. The broadcasters don’t normally do this – they stay on the last competitor, or cut to the crowd, but Chris figures, after China, they’re expecting something media-worthy from the pair. They get Katsuki leaning up against the rink wall, all sleek limbs and hips, and Viktor kneeling before him. Viktor checks the laces on his skates, with careful fingers, gazing up at him all the while with unabashed adoration.

‘Oh, wow.’ Théo sucks in a breath. It’s hot, Chris will give them that. Katsuki’s not really his type, but the two of them together are hot as hell.

‘You never told me he swung that way,’ Théo says, raising one eyebrow at Chris.

‘Men? I’m pretty sure I did. I told you I gave him the blowjob of his life in a dressing room, didn’t I?’ And a sanitised version of the Saga of Viktor’s Epic Love, after the China Cup. Chris is usually pretty careful about gossiping when it comes to Viktor, but when a guy kisses another guy on the ice after a year of moping and one brief drunken flamenco, he’s mad if he thinks no one’s going to talk about it.

‘Not men,’ Théo says, waving a hand like the issue of gender is negligible. Mostly, to Théo, it is. ‘Submission.’

Katsuki, out on the ice by now, grabs Viktor’s tie and yanks him half over the barrier, cutting short a brief flirtation with the crowd on Viktor’s part. Chris has no idea what he says to Viktor, but by the look on Viktor’s face, it’s something utterly compelling. And Viktor is utterly delighted to be compelled.

‘I had no idea,’ Chris says, a whole bunch of realisations dawning on him slowly. ‘I really had no idea.’

Théo just hums, and then asks if Chris is sure Viktor and Katsuki are monogamous. 

**November 2014**

Viktor, 19:03: I hate airports so much.

Viktor, 19:09: Actually I’m a terrible coach and a terrible pet owner and you’re right, Yakov’s right, I’m fucking everything up.

19:50: Sorry, I was… otherwise occupied. What the hell is going on? Why are you in an airport? Why are you fucking everything up? Aren’t you supposed to be having stellar mid-competition fucking instead? Katsuki did good today.

Viktor, 19:53: Can I call you?

19:54: Just a minute, I need to put on pants.

Chris slides off the kitchen bar stool, casting around for his discarded clothing. 

‘Hey, uh, Viktor’s fucked something up and wants to call me from an airport, do you mind?’ It’s not as if he’s abandoning post-coital snuggling, but Théo’s preferred alternative, post-coital cookery, is just as worthy of his attention.

Théo just waves and does something violent with pastry. Chris takes that as consent, and picks up the phone when it rings. He stays in the dining room, though, half-watching Théo work. If that means Théo picks up more of Viktor’s personal life than he otherwise would, so be it. Chris trust Théo, and if Viktor trusts Chris…

So he listens to Viktor babble down the phone about his dog (who has eaten something he shouldn’t and may or may not be dying, Chris can’t tell what’s hyperbole anymore), his terrible coaching, and his Yuri (that comes with a stammer, where Chris can tell Viktor wants to say _boyfriend_ and can’t, which is hilarious, coming from a man who was on camera earlier this evening kneeling at said Yuri’s feet like a supplicant), who insists Viktor go home to the dog at once.

‘And what if he doesn’t _need_ me?’ 

Viktor pauses there, as if Chris is supposed to have something to say to that.

‘Katsuki, or the dog?’ 

‘Yuri, of course! He says he’ll be fine without me!’

‘Do you think he will?’ 

There’s a long silence from the other end, and then Viktor says, ‘Of course I do. He’s doing _so well_ , and he’s so strong, and he’ll be fine. I think.’

‘Okay then,’ Chris says. ‘What’s the problem?’ The problem, obviously, is that Viktor would absolutely crumble if Yakov walked away from him during a competition, even for a moment. Chris understands that, but Chris, like 90% of the sport, has changed coaches and brought in new support staff over the years, while Viktor has been trained and basically raised by one man and one man only. 

‘What if he’s fine without me… all the time?’ Viktor’s voice trembles.

Chris has to swallow a snort. ‘Oh dear, you have got it bad, haven’t you?’

‘Very bad,’ Viktor agrees. ‘The worst.’

‘I am going to laugh about this later,’ Chris says, ‘just so you know.’

‘I appreciate your forbearance.’ Viktor still sounds damp, but a little more hopeful. ‘Ugh, sorry, this plane is boarding soon.’

‘Before you go,’ Chris says, ‘I have a suggestion.’ He catches Théo’s eye and smiles. Chris is enjoying this, in a way. He loves Viktor, he really does, but the one thing that has stayed consistent is the one thing that surprised him most during their ill-advised season of heated fucking: Viktor has basically no idea what he’s doing when it comes to relationships, and Chris gets to play the wise-and-wordly role. If it weren’t for the spectacular miscalculations he made vis-a-vis Viktor back in the day, he might end up smug and sort of cruel about it, but he can’t, not with everything they have in their history. Instead he finds himself… fond.

‘I’m listening,’ Viktor says.

‘What if it’s okay if he’s fine without you? All the time?’

‘And then I grovel to Yakov and tell you you’re right and come back so you can kick my ass on the ice because I don’t know how to quit while I’m ahead?’

‘While that’s a nice idea,’ Chris concedes, ‘I’m pretty sure Plisetsky will kick both our asses if JJ doesn’t. But that’s not what I meant. I mean… if someone’s fine without you, and wants you anyway, isn’t that better?’ Over in the kitchen, Théo has put his pastry thing in the oven, and is leaning his elbows on the bench, just watching Chris talk. ‘I mean… that way you know he wants _you_ , and not just the things you can do for him. Right?’

‘But I want to do things for him,’ Viktor says, forlorn. ‘So many things. Anything he wants, I’ll…’ He trails off, and Chris can’t bring himself to make a joke of it.

‘I know, _cheri_ ,’ he says, instead. ‘I know. And unless Katsuki’s a fool, he’ll figure it out, too.’

**March 2009**

Chris kept his dignity, and his ankle, intact through the Free Skate. He didn’t make the podium that year, but Viktor took gold - that season was the first in what turned out to be a logic-defying five year streak at both the GP and Worlds for him. He directed Chris a bone-melting look of promise as he skated off, and for a moment Chris thought he might also repeat their first encounter by throwing him a rose. Thankfully, Viktor didn’t; as long as he was going to give Chris the good hard fucking he’d promised, roses were extraneous.

Viktor went to deal with the press, and Chris figured he’d look for him, or text him, later. So he accepted an offer of a drink from the ladies' sixth place, a tall woman from the US with braids down to her waist and a build that said she could probably throw Chris around if she so desired.

If Chris didn’t have other plans, he’d have straight up asked if she desired. As it is, he drank and flirted and considered it an investment. Who knew what next season might bring?

The next hour brought Viktor Nikiforov, looking for him. And then sharing a drink with him and Alesha, charming her and… flirting a lot less with Chris than usual, actually. Chris responded by turning up the charm on Alesha: maybe Viktor was into that, into the idea of tag-team flirting. Certainly Alesha was, giggling like she couldn’t believe her luck. 

Eventually, Viktor’s hand settled on Chris’ shoulder. ‘We should go,’ he said, calm and composed. ‘We have another engagement.’

Chris murmured his apologies to Alesha and hoped no one could see he was half-hard already as they left the bar. 

‘Were you doing that on purpose?’ Viktor shoved him against a wall as soon as they made it to Viktor’s room.

‘Doing what?’ Chris asked, grabbing Viktor’s hips and pulling him closer.

‘Flirting. With that girl. When you already asked me to fuck you tonight.’

‘Yeah, I was,’ Chris said, and shuddered and gasped as Viktor bit him, _hard_ , right in the soft part of his neck, and sucked on it long enough to bring up a real mark. ‘Got a problem with that?’

Viktor stepped back and folded his arms, staring him down. ‘Get your clothes off,’ he said. This was improvising beyond the script Chris had given him, and it was definitely working for Chris. So much. He skipped finesse and elegance and shucked all his clothes in rapid succession.

Viktor stepped in close, crowding him again, hands wrapping around Chris’ wrists. He wasn’t pinning them over Chris’ head, and some part of Chris was still noting that and being slightly disappointed, but he was gripping pretty damn hard, and that was good, too.

‘If I’m fucking you, I want you thinking about _me_ ,’ Viktor growled.

‘I would be, if you’d stop talking about Alesha.’ Chris angled up to kiss Viktor, anticipating tongue and teeth and hoping for more besides - nails in his skin, hair pulled hard, all the good stuff.

‘You know she’s not going to fuck you the way I am,’ Viktor said, shoving one knee between Chris’ legs and nudging him off-balance a little.

‘She might,’ Chris countered. ‘She’s pretty strong.’

‘Can’t pin you down and take you,’ Viktor growled, and yanked Chris away from the wall, shoving him onto the bed.

‘Only ‘cos I didn’t bring the right kit,’ Chris said, catching himself on his hands and rolling over to smirk up at Viktor. ‘They make some pretty awesome toys for that, now.’

This was about the point when it all went wrong. Chris wasn’t opposed to messing around with jealousy: some people got pretty riled up, and apparently Viktor was one of them. A little bit of jealousy, or envy, or competitive drive, could be a great thing - incentive to more and better fucking.

But now, Viktor staggered back like he’d been slapped.

‘Why would you bring…?’

‘Not now, obviously,’ Chris said. ‘But she seemed cool. If I’d known her before…’

‘You knew _me_.’ Viktor’s hands were balled into fists at his side. ‘You were planning on, on having sex with _me_.’

‘Yeah, I was. And I am.’ Chris sat up, rubbing one hand over his face. ‘Viktor. Did you really think I’d stand you up for someone else?’

Viktor stared down at him for a moment, and then sat down beside him. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, but I… you’re talking like you want to remind me you could be having anyone else.’

‘Not literally anyone,’ Chris demurs. ‘But… we had plans. _Good_ plans. I wasn’t gonna walk out on you.’

‘But if you’d known about that, that woman, you might have brought…’

‘Alesha,’ Chris says, unaccountably annoyed by the fact that Viktor either can’t remember or won’t say her name. ‘And I have no idea if she’d actually be interested in pegging me, or in fucking me at all, it’s just a nice thought. Maybe I’ll find out one day. Can we get back to the part where you fuck me, now?’

‘No,’ Viktor said, and the bottom fell out of Chris’ stomach. ‘No, I don’t think we can.’

If Chris had been older or wiser, he’d have walked away then. But he wasn’t; he still thought the rules you make at the outset ought to have been a safeguard against any unwanted relationship developments; and he was still, despite everything, in awe of Viktor Nikiforov. So they fought: Chris throwing the ‘friends who have sex’ clause in Viktor’s face, Viktor answering back with the things he’d done, or agreed to do, only because Chris wanted them, and it wasn’t until Viktor broke down in tears that Chris realised what had gone wrong.

‘I don’t know what you want from me,’ Viktor said, and he was crying but he didn’t sound sad, he sounded _angry_. ‘And I don’t think you know, either!’

‘All I wanted,’ Chris said, trying to get his bearings. ‘All I wanted was… just you. My friend. I wanted to fuck around with you, as friends.’

‘Consider me fucked around with,’ Viktor said, voice bitter. ‘Just… just go, okay?’

So Chris went. The next day, Alesha found him during the gala, and pressed one finger to the purpling bruise Viktor left on his neck, and Chris shrugged away. He saw her again, on and off, over a few years, but never could quite bring himself to make the proposition.

 **December 2014**

‘So,’ Phichit says, watching the happy (ish) couple walking ahead of them, arm in arm. ‘They’re getting married if Yuri wins gold. Do you think it has to be an international competition gold?’

‘Knowing Viktor, I’m pretty sure it does,’ Chris says, but that’s not right. He doesn’t actually know Viktor well enough for this. It’s beyond him how the gold-medal condition even fits with the whole ‘I’d do anything he wanted’ aspect. Unless Viktor needs to be won like a damsel in a fairytale, needs proof the object of his adoration is worthy of it. Or maybe that's what Katsuki needs: to feel like he's earned what Viktor is freely offering. 

‘This is terrible,’ Phichit says. ‘We really want to see that wedding, but it’s our job to get in the way of Yuri winning gold.’ He nudges Chris with his shoulder, like ‘getting in the way of Yuri’ is something they’re doing together, rather than against each other. Chulanont is like the mirror image of Otabek Altin: where years training out of his home country, always rubbing elbows with his direct competition, never truly secure, has hardened Altin’s reserve, made him formal and withdrawn, Phichit approaches the international scene like everyone’s his natural friend and ally. Chris, who at that age approached his fellow skaters as if everyone was his natural rival and potential fuckbuddy, admires Phichit’s combination of charm and calm.

‘Hey,’ he says, as the group dissolves just inside the hotel - Viktor and Yuri to their room, the two Japanese women to theirs, and Altin and Plisetsky, for some reason, back outside again - ‘have you got time for a drink?’ 

Phichit gives him a skeptical look. A skeptical look that definitely travels down Chris’ body and back up again.

Chris raises his hands, puts on his best innocent face. ‘They have non-alcoholic drinks here! There’s someone I want you to meet. My, uh, boyfriend.’

‘The pole dancer?’ Phichit asks. Chris makes a mental note to stop worrying about spilling Viktor’s secrets; evidently Viktor has no such qualms gossiping about him to Katsuki, and thence to Phichit. And this foreknowledge hadn’t stopped Phichit checking him out just now, so. That’s a good sign.

‘Yeah,’ Chris says, and smirks. ‘My secret choreography weapon.’

‘It’s hardly a secret if everyone who was here last year has video footage of you half-naked on a pole,’ Phichit points out, letting Chris steer him toward the bar, where Théo will probably be. Then he adds, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry I missed that.’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t bring the pole again this year,’ Chris says. ‘Théo, this is Phichit; Phichit, Théo. Phichit’s just been filled in on last year’s banquet events,’ he adds, to Théo, who snickers.

‘And Yuri thought Viktor was tormenting him, turning up all flirtatious and making him skate _Eros_ ,’ Phichit says, dropping onto a couch opposite Théo. ‘He really had no idea!’

‘Turns out Katsuki forgot the entire evening,’ Chris explains, dropping a kiss on Théo’s cheek. ‘Can I get you both drinks?’

He comes back with scotch for Théo and ‘interesting juice’ for Phichit, and Fanta Citron for himself (ten points to Spain, he thinks; this is technically sold in Switzerland, but hardly ever available). Phichit is busy recount the story of Viktor and Katsuki’s not-wedding-rings to Théo, so that’s going well.

‘Hey Chris,’ Phichit says, taking the juice cocktail off him. ‘I’m totally going to be Yuri’s best man, right?’ Chris shrugs. He wouldn’t know enough about Katsuki’s friends or family to say. Do they even have Best Men in Japanese weddings? ‘Which means I get to organise the party.’

‘Which one?’ Théo asks. ‘Reception or stag night?’

Phichit looks like someone’s just told him he gets two birthdays this year. ‘ _Both_ ,’ he says, reverently. ‘I was thinking… can I borrow your collapsible pole?’

Chris laughs, and is about to say ‘of course,’ when Théo cuts in.

‘I can do better than that,’ he says. ‘Depending on where the wedding is held, I can probably find you someone to hire out a suite of proper studio poles.’  


**December 2014**

‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing or how you plan to do it?’ Chris asks, passing Viktor a glass of champagne. Much as he wanted Viktor back in the sport, he’d nearly punched something when the press release about Viktor’s intention to compete _and_ coach caught up with him. Théo, who was close enough to be the something nearly punched, had pretty much talked him down. There had been words about how Viktor was Not His Problem To Manage. Chris would be more raw over that discussion if it weren’t that he knows perfectly well that when Viktor does call him, or possibly turns up on his doorstep in despair, Théo will shake his head, and smile, and produce pastry or booze as necessary.

Viktor takes the champagne and actually _grins_ at him. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I have no idea what I’m doing and it’s going to be fantastic.’

Chris can’t help smiling back at him. ‘Have I ever seen you this happy before?’ he asks, and then regrets the question. It’s a little too honest, a little too much like betraying how important Viktor’s happiness is to him.

Viktor smiles some more, and shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says, ‘you haven’t, because I’ve never been this happy.’

‘Well… good.’ Chris stares at his champagne, and pretends this isn’t uncomfortably like giving his ex his blessing. Viktor is not his ex, and does not need his blessing.

‘Heyyy.’ Chris knows it’s Katsuki behind him, because Viktor’s eyes light up. Katsuki nudges Chris with his elbow. ‘Where can I get some of that?’ he asks, gesturing to the champagne.

Chris is about to reach over and pour him some (turn down another chance to get Katsuki drunk and half-naked? Never), but Viktor beats him to it, handing over his own glass without batting an eyelash. Katsuki sips from it, slow and dignified, like absolutely no one has ever seen him knock back entire glasses in a single swill. 

Chris changes his mind about Katsuki not being his type. Chris likes devious little shits, and Katsuki is totally a devious little shit. So Chris gropes him, squeezing his ass and saying, ‘Fancy a dance, Mr Silver Medalist?’

Viktor’s expression does something complicated that, Chris knows perfectly well, is halfway between anger and arousal. Katsuki, who has been mostly looking at Viktor this whole time, turns to Chris, smirks, and doesn’t do anything to dislodge Chris’ hand.

‘I’m afraid I didn’t bring the pole this year,’ Chris says, and Katsuki scoops Chris’ champagne flute out of his hand.

‘Pity,’ Katsuki says. ‘I’m sure we can manage.’ He turns back to Viktor, and says, ‘Hold these, would you?’

Viktor, with an expression like a stunned fish, accepts both champagne flutes. Katsuki leans up, kisses him on the cheek, and says,

‘Actually, I could use a refill by the time we’re done.’ Then he grabs Chris hand and pulls him out into an empty space to dance.

They’re not actually dancing long; just long enough for a few of the others to join them. Chris is pleased to note Théo twirling Phichit in exaggerated ballroom style not far away. One song, and then Yuri leads him back to where Viktor is standing, watching them intently, with two full glasses in hand.

Yuri takes his when offered, but Chris demurs. ‘You keep it,’ he says, to Viktor. ‘You deserve it.’

Viktor leans away from Yuri for a second to hiss, into Chris’ ear, ‘You did that _on purpose_ , didn’t you?’

‘Of course,’ Chris answers. ‘But more importantly, _so did he_. You two have fun, now.’ And, swishing his hips a little, he makes his way over to Théo and Phichit, who both hold out hands for him to join them.


End file.
